


The Peace of Wild Things

by Lady_Darkling1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15.20 Carry On Coda, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Has Internalized Homophobia, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Darkling1/pseuds/Lady_Darkling1
Summary: “I can’t not be here either,” Dean finally continues. Because that’s the truth. He drove and drove and drove and Cas was still everywhere: in the rain, in the sound of the tires moving forward, in his bones and breath.---OR: Dean stops driving (finally).
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	The Peace of Wild Things

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written in many years, but felt inspired to try my hand once again. Not Beta read, so apologies for any typos.
> 
> The title comes from a poem by Wendell Berry.

There’s a peace when Sam arrives, an exhaled breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding all this time. It’s the end of his watch; Dean’s done what he’s meant to do and seen his brother safe. Of course, even as he wraps his arms around Sam, he can’t escape the slight spike of fear that rises. All should be well, here in Heaven, with his brother long-lived and happy too, but there’s nothing left to wait for now. The years of driving, thinking, dreaming, avoiding? Those years are ended here and now. 

He leaves Sam at the place Sam’s selected for his heavenly abode, all shingles and full planters, the kind of house that will welcome Eileen home when she’s ready. The kind of house they probably lived in. When he pulls out of the driveway, he closes his eyes and thinks or maybe prays, “Okay, Cas. I’m ready.”

But nothing happens, so he steps back into the car, driving slowly, the radio off for once. It hasn’t been long when the road appears, sun dappling over it through the shade of fat-leafed trees. Some instinct tells him to turn left, so he does, crunching over gravel for maybe five minutes before he arrives at a ramshackle house.

It’s got a huge vegetable garden in the front and honeysuckle over the trellis. It’s not as neat and homey as Sam’s place, but it feels right, somehow, as he pulls up.

He’s putting the car in park, when he hears the words, low and lovely. Just his name and hello.

Cas is there, on that wide covered porch, his hair a little mussed by the wind, and Dean has to stop himself from reaching out. The last time he saw those blue eyes, they were filled with tears, desperate and pleading for Dean to understand. 

Now, he stands in jeans and a t-shirt and watches Dean as he gets out of the car.

“Where have you been?” Dean says, instead of “Hey” or “Nice to see you” or “Glad you got rescued from the Empty”. He sounds like a jerk. He feels like a jerk.

But Cas steps down from the porch, slowly, looking different without the trench coat or the suit, but somehow still the same. When Dean actually looks him in the eye, Cas is smiling and he looks so fond that Dean blurts: “I mean, me too. As well. Also. You know. With the whole love thing.”

Then he totally panics and starts to step away, his back hitting the car door. Which makes him kind of stumble. He keeps his eyes on the ground. 

Most of what he thought about when he drove was Cas. Dean would be driving in the rain, and images would flash through his head: his legs tangled together with Cas’ as they sit on a couch, Cas’ hair rumpled and his blue eyes still heavy with sleep as he and Dean eat bacon and eggs across the table from each other, Cas’ mouth warm and soft on his as they stand outside, or his face nuzzled into the sleep-heated skin of Cas’ neck as they lay wrapped up with one another in a cozy bed.

Or it would be windy and autumnal outside of Baby and he’d think of all the ways they’d hurt each other, he and Cas, over their years together. The arguments and anger, the misunderstandings, the grief. That loomed largest: the anguish that filled him each time they were lost to each other. Dean thought it would fucking kill him, that last time, Cas’s final vanishing act and the memory of the look on his face when he told Dean that he loved him. 

Here and now, Cas’ laugh is close and bright and then warm fingers are on Dean’s face, lifting his jaw. 

“Shit,” is the only response he can come up with for a moment, with Cas’ lips so near, those blue eyes staring into his. 

“Dean,” Cas says and his voice sounds low and tender and Dean gives in, throwing his arms around the angel, pulling him near, burying his face into the warm, sweet, bare skin of Cas’ neck.

“You can’t just pull shit like that,” he mumbles. He means the love confession, sure, but mostly, he means diving into the Empty. 

“Do you mean it?” Cas whispers and Dean can almost hear the hope in his voice. He can definitely hear a smile. “The whole love thing?”

“Um,” he starts. His tongue feels heavy. “Um, yeah. Didn’t you know?”

The fat yellow rays of the sun are beating down on the back of his head, his face still against Cas’ neck. 

And then Cas’ lips are on his, soft and brief, before they travel to his forehead, his hair, the sides of his face, his jaw, light butterflies of kisses that cause Dean to grab Cas and kiss him for real, Cas’ chapped lips against his. Then Cas’ tongue is against the seam of his lips, pushing in, thrusting against Dean’s, and Dean’s a goner.

He realizes around the time that he pulls away with a gasp that he’s been both groaning and kind of grinding into Cas. Who looks flustered and mussed and Jesus, Dean wants to kiss him again and again and again. He settles for leaning his forehead against Cas’. Cas tugs Dean’s hand into his and laces their fingers.

“You live here?” he says because he can’t think of anything else. He’s still out of breath. 

Cas grins. “Do you want a tour?” He pulls Dean towards the house, their hands still clasped. 

There’s a swing on the porch, and Dean can picture himself sitting there, next to Cas, sipping a beer as the evening grows dark. 

Inside the house is perfect. Not perfect like a magazine, like the kind of house Lisa might have dreamed of, but full of light and mismatched, comfortable looking furniture. There’s a living room with a large fireplace and several sofas, a den with a TV even though he can’t really picture Cas watching it. He probably reads one of the fat volumes from the several wooden bookshelves. 

The kitchen is airy, with an old school gas range. Dean opens the oven to check it out before he can stop himself.

“Nice,” he says. Cas beams.

There’s a small breakfast nook and it overlooks a long lawn that leads down to a stream. 

“I have a hive over there,” Cas gestures. 

“Any fish in that thing?” Dean asks, pointing to the stream. 

“I thought you’d find out,” Cas replies and he ducks his head, his smile suddenly shy.

Which is when Dean gets it. This house isn’t just Cas’ slice of heaven, with its beehive and its large garden. It’s meant for him too. Some hopeful part of Cas built this place with Dean in mind. And if Cas was brave enough to hope, after everything, even when most of him believed before he went into the Empty that Dean didn’t love him back, at least not the way he wanted, then Dean can try to be brave enough for this next part.

“Show me the bedrooms,” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“There are only two,” Cas says. Neither of them moves for a minute. Dean takes a breath. He heads out of the kitchen, with its range designed with him and his cooking and baking in mind. He crosses through the living room to the stairs. 

Cas’ bedroom is the large one, overlooking the stream and his beehive. Dean stops in the middle of the room, staring at the bed, huge with an old-fashioned quilt. Dean’s trying too hard not to panic to give Cas shit about it and anyway, it’s kind of nice. 

Cas is a few steps behind him. Dean talks without looking back. “I mean, you’re into this, right? It’s cool if you’re not. It’s just I’ve never done this…you know, with a guy. Or an angel in a male vessel. With like more than one dick, I mean, and I don’t…”

Then strong arms are wrapped around him from behind and a soft mouth is pressed against his temple. “It’s okay, beloved,” Cas breathes in his ear. Dean is shaking. He turns in Cas’ arms and wraps his own around Cas’ waist and he just lets Cas hold him for a few long minutes.

“Cas,” he says, holding onto the idea of Cas building this house for them even though Dean got here and just drove in any direction but Cas’. He thinks of a stream full of fish and the perfect oven and of sitting next to Cas on the porch swing, holding his hand. He can’t look up, so he says it to Cas’ neck. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

The arms around him tighten and then Cas’ mouth is hot and everywhere: teeth scraping against Dean’s collarbone, nipping against his neck, mouthing along his jaw before his tongue pushes into Dean’s mouth to circle against his. 

They stumble towards the bed, Cas caught halfway in his shirt for a moment before he shucks it. Dean’s hands are on the warm skin of Cas’ back, traveling over his chest, fingers brushing against the hard nipples and over the wiry hair on his chest. He licks against Cas’ heart, pounding as fast as his own, and digs his fingers into Cas’ biceps. Cas forces Dean onto his back, palming the bulge in his own jeans before shoving Dean down, and Dean groans into the mouth that quickly covers his. 

He lifts his own shirt off and Cas uses lips and teeth and tongue against his nipple, fingers reaching up to pinch the other one, hard, and it’s like a live wire to his dick. He can feel himself leaking, hear his voice saying, “shit” and “baby” and “fuck, Cas”.

Cas is more eloquent: he’s calling Dean good and beautiful and his love. Dean tugs Cas’ head back up towards his own for another kiss, deep and kinda messy, Cas shoving as deep into Dean’s mouth as he can, Dean trying to unbuckle Cas’ jeans. A part of his brain is freaking out, telling him that he doesn’t know what comes next, that what’s happened so far isn’t that different than it is with a woman, except for the stubble and the body hair. 

And that it’s Cas. Everything feels sharper, brighter, and Dean hungrier. He’s desperate for Cas, for Cas’ hands on him, his on Cas. He wants this, wants it so fucking badly that it scares him, makes his hands shake, even as he tangles them in Cas’ hair. 

Cas breaks the kiss, pausing above Dean to look down. Fingers smooth his hair from his forehead. “You are beautiful, Dean Winchester,” Cas says. “The most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” Cas’ pupils are absolutely blown, the blue almost lost, and he turns Dean’s face back to him when Dean tries to drop his head to the side, overwhelmed. “I love you,” Cas says, and then one of the hands gripping Dean’s jaw in place is opening Dean’s jeans instead, tugging his dick free.

“Yes?” Cas asks, his hand loose around the base of Dean’s cock and it takes Dean a second to realize that Cas is asking for permission.

“Yes, Jesus, yes.”

“Look at me,” Cas orders him as he starts jerking Dean, the precum enough lubricant, the pads of his fingers rough on the head. The hand on Dean’s jaw tightens and so does the one on his cock. It’s rougher and harder than Dean normally goes for, but still, he’s fucking up into Cas’ hand and whimpering. He keeps trying to close his eyes, only for Cas to command him to open them, stop Dean, look at me, and the words are almost as hot as the relentless hand on his dick.

“Cas, stop, stop. I’m gonna come,” Dean’s words stutter out on his fast breaths. He doesn’t look away. 

“Then come, my love,” and the same command is in Cas’ voice. Then he’s shooting all over Cas’ hands and onto to his own stomach and his eyes finally shutter closed as Cas’ fingers keep working, right until it tips into pain.

When he opens them again, Cas is looking down and his smile is crooked and tender. He runs his fingers over Dean’s lips and Dean doesn’t know why it’s so damn hot that Cas is still half dressed, looming over him while he’s covered in cum, but it is.

He sits up, determined to take care of his man, tugging Cas close. Cas’ mouth is gentler against his now, cherishing. 

“Thank you,” Cas whispers against his lips and Dean can’t even think for what, since Cas is still clearly hard in his pants. 

Dean reaches for Cas’ waistband, intent on unbuttoning his jeans, when he’s shoved back against the pillows, a hand on his chest keeping him down. His dick twitches at the manhandling and when Cas lets go, he stays down, watching as Cas brings out his own dick. 

Cas is uncut, the head of his cock purple and leaking, and Dean wants it in his mouth, in his hands. It’s wider than Dean’s and almost as long and Cas towers over him, yanking at the foreskin, biting his lip.

Dean’s getting half-hard again, watching Cas work himself. One of Cas’ hands drops down to Dean’s thighs, shoving them open and then fingers are brushing against his hole. Dean starts to close his legs, reflexively. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Cas says. He should have guessed that Cas would be bossy in bed. He should have known too that he’d like it. Cas continues to play with his hole, looking fucked out as he stares down into Dean’s eyes, jerking on his cock the whole time. 

“Jesus, baby,” Dean says. “You sure know how to put on a show.”

“Shut up,” Cas tells him and then two fingers brush his lips and Dean lets them in, confused, until Cas tells him to suck.

When those two wet fingers circle his entrance and one pushes in, there’s a wash of shame that rushes over him even as he’s pushing back onto the finger. He feels Cas slip another in and it feels sort of strange, until suddenly it’s amazing, and his legs are falling apart and he’s keening, wanting everything Cas can give. 

“I want to touch all of you, taste all of you, feel every part of you,” Cas tells him as he fucks his fingers into Dean. 

“I want to fill you,” Cas says and his fingers are working hard and fast against Dean’s prostate and the pleasure is so great that he knows he could come, just from fingers and the way the man he loves looks at him right now, like he is everything. 

As soon as that thought arrives, another chases it, sounding like his father. It sounds like hate and humiliation and fear. Real men, he can almost hear his father say, don’t get off on being touched by another guy. They don’t want to be fucked by another guy. The voice goes on and on and he can feel himself getting soft.

“Um,” he says, closing his eyes and trying to roll away. “I’m not sure I’m ready. For that.” He feels like a high school virgin, his desire warring with uncertainty and shame. 

There’s a thunk of a body next to his on the bed, and then fingers over his eyelids, gently. He opens them reluctantly. 

Cas is next to him, propped up on arm. “Sweetheart,” Cas says. “Dean.”

“Look,” he says, sitting up, his back against the headboard. “I’ve got issues. I know it, okay? I mean, yes, there were some, you know, times when I thought you were kind of sexy. More than some. And maybe once or twice I may have checked out a really good-looking dude. But the way I grew up, Cas? I’m not allowed to be gay. I’m definitely not supposed to want to take it up the ass.” He shakes his head and swipes at his eyes. He’s in Heaven and still, he can’t be himself, not really. 

Cas is silent, his hand moving in small circles on Dean’s shoulder. His eyes look sad and Dean hates himself for that, for spoiling this moment for Cas when he wants to give him everything. They’re quiet for a minute, while Dean tries to breathe away the things he can feel threatening to wash over him. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he finally confesses. And he means in the bedroom, sure, but also in general. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner. It’s deeper than that, though. It still sounds like his father’s voice, wondering what Cas could possibly see that’s so beautiful, so worth loving, so worth sacrificing for.

“I can’t not be here either,” Dean finally continues. Because that’s the truth. He drove and drove and drove and Cas was still everywhere: in the rain, in the sound of the tires moving forward, in his bones and breath. 

“Look, I’m sorry I’m ruining our first time with this shit and I haven’t even gotten you off. I just need you, okay? Like air, or water, or my arms, or hell, any piece of me. I know I’m a mess. But I need you. Just don’t give up.” And then he’s full-on crying, like ugly crying with snot and strange sounds and his whole body shaking. He has officially ruined sex with the only person he’s ever loved like this, bone deep and true. 

Cas is holding him, petting him, and then a tissue is wiping his eyes, his face.

“I should have asked,” Cas says. “I wanted to feel you there, inside. I should have asked for your consent.” Dean’s cheek is kissed, his hair is smoothed. “And you’re not a mess.”

He raises his eyebrows at that, ignoring the drum of his blood at the idea of Cas wanting to touch him inside.

Cas kisses him. He lets himself respond. He snuggles closer, lets his legs tangle with Cas’. 

“We won’t engage in penetrative sex without discussion first,” Cas says. Christ, how Dean missed him. “But there are so many ways to make love, Dean. That never has to be a part of it.”

Make love. Dean’s never made love in his life. He’s gotten off, he’s fucked, he’s had sex, good, bad, and mediocre. He’s even had tender sex back in his days with Lisa, but he’s never made love. He’s never been bared before someone, not really, not someone who looks at him like Cas does, not someone who makes him want to surrender everything: his ego and his arrogance, his hang ups and his self. He traces Cas’ cheekbones with his fingers.

“I want it to,” he admits. “Be a part of it. If you do, I mean. I want you to penetrate me.” He puts that in air quotes. “It’s just you were being all hot and bossy, and I thought you might go for it and I’m not there yet.”

“I’m not bossy,” Cas replies. Dean can’t help laughing and he can’t help that it takes him longer than it should to stop.

“You are,” he says. “But I don’t mind it.” It turns him on, actually, but he’ll save that information for later. He kisses Cas’ forehead and feels a wave of tenderness. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Cas tells him.

“Yeah, I kind of did. Crying during sex is a big no.” He’s trying to make a joke of it, but Cas just shakes his head. 

“Telling your lover how you feel is never a no,” Cas responds. 

Lover. He’s Cas’ lover. 

“It’s not just the physical stuff,” Dean says. “I mean, it’s not just the anatomy stuff.”

“I know. I know you, Dean,” Cas says. “I know every fiber of your being. I know your fear and your courage, and the depths of your love.”

And that’s why he’s here. On a bed next to his angel. Because what is his father’s voice in the face of a love like this? He kisses Cas gently. 

Dean’s drained, but he drops his hand to Cas’ cock. “Let me take care of you,” he says. He’s actually shocked when Cas swats him away.

“Why? Because you think that things need to be even?”

Which is part of it, sure, but not all. He’s about to answer, but Cas continues: “Do you know the pleasure it gave me to watch you come undone? I’ve never seen anything as spectacular as you losing yourself.”

A flush flares on his cheeks and across his chest. 

“I don’t need anything else.” Cas is studying him, head tilted. “When I was gone, what would you have given to have me back?”

“You mean when you were a self-sacrificing asshole who ran off to the Empty without, I don’t know, consulting anyone else first? That time you were gone and we never thought we’d have you back? And thanks for dropping everything on me before vanishing, by the way. I don’t know. What the fuck do you think I’d have given? Everything. Anything.”

“That’s what I want to give you. Anything. Everything. It was never in the having, Dean. It’s in the saying. In the giving.”

“Well, I want to give my boyfriend a blow job, so maybe you can just let me.” The retort surprises him even as he speaks it. 

“Really?”

“It might not be great.” Dean admits. “What with how it’s the first one and all.”

“Try,” Cas says, a hint of that command that Dean finds so alluring back in Cas’ voice. Cas slides back down onto the pillow and now it’s Dean’s turn to loom over him, kissing every part he can find, even the weird ones, like the crooks of Cas’ elbows or the elegant fingers or each and every one of his ribs. 

Cas is musky in his mouth, and his dick is smooth and surprisingly soft against Dean’s tongue. Dean keeps pulling back to lick bits of it: the swollen head, the fat vein underneath, the wet slit. Cas is writhing underneath him and it’s heady, to think that he can give Cas this. He’s not going as deep as some of the girls he’s been with do, and it takes him a while to get into a good rhythm, and there’s a hell of a lot of spit everywhere, on his chin and running down Cas’ length. Cas keeps fucking into his mouth though, and murmuring his name, along with all his old-fashioned endearments. Cas was right. Watching Cas lose his shit, feeling the pulse as he comes, even the slightly bitter taste of him is maybe the best thing that Dean’s ever experienced. 

It takes three tugs on his own cock before he’s coming again and then he’s climbing, wet and sticky to drop his head onto Cas’ shoulder, threading his legs with Cas’. 

“You need to shower,” his lover tells him. Lover. That’s not quite the right word. Boyfriend? Partner? None of that means what this is: something he wants forever and always. The word husband floats up in his mind and it’s the only term that sounds quite right.

“In a minute,” he says and he wraps Cas’ hand in his. Fingers card his hair as Cas tells him all the things he wants to do to Dean: take care of him, love him, worship him.

“Also penetrate,” he mumbles. “Later though.” He can’t keep his eyes open. 

Cas agrees to that and continues on with his “my own loves” and his “so goods,” as peace washes over Dean and he finds himself letting go entirely, drifting into sleep.


End file.
